


the snow it melts the soonest (when the winds begin to sing)

by seokjynerso



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Broken Bones, Gen, Mild Gore, Pain, Revenge, Torture, flashbacks to happier times, flower symbolisms, lost brotherly love, post-The End, tord meets karma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seokjynerso/pseuds/seokjynerso
Summary: ❝ the bee that flew when summer shone, in winter he won't sting. ❞in which tom settles old scores with tord while twin red plum flowers blossom through the snow.prompt: what's the flower that matches a certain eddsworld character the most?





	the snow it melts the soonest (when the winds begin to sing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zannora1596](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zannora1596/gifts).



> Loosely based on the lyrics of the folk song 'The Snow It Melts the Soonest' as sung by Anne Briggs.

Tord woke up to a play of light as it shined gently through the crystals settling on his eyelashes. Intricately woven patterns of ice were falling from the sky, leaving frosty kisses on his face. He was lying on his side, lying on a soft bed of snow that seeped wet through his military uniform. His body was stung by the biting cold, but that didn't bother him. It wouldn't hold a candle to the splitting headache that started to kick in.

His only flesh-and-blood hand searched for the source of the pain. A slightly numbed palm touched something warm and sticky on the left side of his head. He quickly brought his hand closer to his face to have a look.

His fingers were slathered red.

Despite the jackhammering headache in his head, Tord tried to sit upright. Big mistake. Pain shot up from the lower half of his body, causing him to yell and collapse back into the cold snow. His headache became stronger with every passing moment一pounding, pounding, pounding with every breath he took. But Tord knew that he couldn't succumb to the pain, not before he could know what had caused it. He needed to know.

A renewed strength crept into Tord's being as he raised himself carefully up on one elbow, his mechanical elbow, to peek at his lower body.

His trousers now resembled worm-eaten leaves, the tattered edges soaked in blood. Further down, his legs... both of his legs were mangled, as if crushed by something big and heavy. Cream-white bone spiked through the broken flesh of his shins. The snow beneath them was painted crimson red, the same colour and shade as his hand.

A sour taste surfaced to Tord's mouth from the sight. He looked away, frantically searching for some other things to cast his eyes on. He shifted his focus to his surroundings instead.

The forest around him unfolded like a scene from an old film, confined to silence and riddled with grainy noise, its colours muted to the point of being monochromatic. Winter had taken away any semblance of life from the trees, leaving them barren and brooding.

But something fought fiercely against the white death. When Tord inspected the trees above him further, he noticed dots of red lining the branches. They were nature's beautiful anomalies. He remembered reading and seeing such trees blooming most vibrantly in winter, before the snow melts, before the swallows fly without a thought. They are common here in China, the country housing one of the Red Army's secret bases.

They were plum blossoms, the national symbol of renewal, perseverance and purity. The embodiment of hope and regenerating life. It was a captivating sight, making Tord forget the pain in his head and legs.

But plum blossoms are also a reminder of life's impermanence. When spring is at its fullest, the red petals will fall.

A sudden loud growl shattered the peaceful void of sound, startling the wounded man. It was a sound so low only a wild animal could make. And it was extremely close. His heart thrashed against his chest as images of possible outcomes flashed in his mind. In his current situation, he was at a disadvantage一he was wounded, completely alone and defenseless. The burning question of why he was in the middle of a forest at the first place was pushed away by the terror of being mauled by wild animals. If he were to die, he wanted to die in a blaze of glory, in the heat of battle. He wanted to go down with honour leading his troops in a war, not in the hands of some vile beast.

Another growl echoed through the woods. Crunching footsteps on snow could be heard from behind him. Tord crawled, or clawed, his way on the snow as fast as he could, dragging his legs behind him. Pain be damned. He needed to get out of this God-forsaken place. Perhaps the creature would arrive faster than he could escape, perhaps dragging himself would be futile, but his response was automatic and it was the best chance he had.

The tree a few metres away would make a good hiding place. It was sturdy and stretching high towards the heavens. Tord hoped that it would be enough to shield him. He hoped.

"Trying to hide from me, Commie?"

Tord's breathing hitched. He snapped his head to the side, taking a glance at the owner of said voice.

_Tom._

"Why are you running away?" Tom's voice was lower than expected, interlaced by a guttural sound Tord had never heard, "Seasons will pass and for all your pride, you'll still come crawling back to us."

A clawed foot was slammed down on Tord's mangled legs. Crack. Tord screamed his lungs out in agony. Tears fell from his eyes as he lay clenching his legs in a fetal position. They were in a more damaged state than before.

Tom stared down at the pathetic display. He was more monster now than man. Twin purple horns jutted out of his head. His clawed limbs were coated with thick dark scales. His trademark blue outfit were torn in some places. But some parts of his human self remained, especially the deep abysses of his eyes, harbouring hatred still.

Tord jerked his head back and coughed and laughed. It dawned on him that he was set as the punchline of a sick joke. The monster serum, the one he'd worked his nights on, the one that'd gone missing with the crashed plane, was finally utilised by his own enemy. "Ah," he drew out a long moan, half-delirious from the pain racking his body and the pleasure of seeing something familiar once more. "My creation, my creation," he sighed. Tord's eyes were fixated on Tom's features in admiration. The experiment was a success but he'd only learned of the fact the hard way.

"When you told me that you don't need us before you left, I'd known better that you were bound to follow us." Tom looked at Tord, his face emotionless, "Yes, you did come back to our new home. You took Edd away, then Matt."

Pure venom dripped from Tom's voice. Tord could feel himself shivering under the glare that bore into his eyes and into his soul. There was nothing in his brilliant mind he could say to counter Tom's statements so he looked down, wanting to avert the latter's judging gaze.

"Seriously, not even a damn sorry? Huh, unbelievable. I can't believe I came all the way here to negotiate peacefully with your sorry arse but all I got was you and your army almost gunning me down for trespassing." The Red Leader's refusal to speak sent Tom into a restless mode. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Tom raised his voice to a feral growl and Tord lifted his head slightly in response. A hint of fear danced in his ice-grey eyes.

"All you care about are your guns and your stupid army. What about us? Your friends? Me?" The anger in Tom's voice broke away, strained and cracked by the gravity of his words, "You were like a brother to me, Tord. We bickered and fought like little kids but we were still a family. Me, Edd, Matt and you. I've always wished that things would stay the same."

Hearing those sentences from Tom's mouth surprised Tord. He thought that they were only friends, never a family. But if they were a real family, Tom would've been their baby brother. He was the youngest among the four. Tom was only fifteen when he moved in to live with them and it was the three older members who raised him up to young adulthood. He'd never had a brother, and he only had them to hold on to.

Oldest brother Edd had poured his infinite affection. Sometimes, late at night, Tom would sneak into Edd's room for a cuddle. Edd, being the freakishly tall chubby guy he was, had more of him for Tom to hug. Matt and his, uh, unique personality never failed to provide Tom a consistent source of entertainment. Naughty brother Tord would supply him some alcoholic drinks when no one was looking. Despite the occasional teasings  and quarrels, the youngest brother was spoiled sweet. Tom might be cold on the surface, but he reciprocated their love in his own way even though didn't know much about expressions of kindness.

The Chinese said that the sweet fragrance of plum blossoms comes from bitterness and coldness. Tom was a plum flower, enduring the harshness of winter and blossoming alone through snow when other flowers withered. Persevering even after he lost his father, was forced to part with his mother, watched an older brother move away, watched the same older brother betray him, watched Edd slowly losing his sense of trust, watched Matt losing some of the lively spark that made him, him一and watched the two of them being dragged away to a foreign place.

The plum flower might be breathtaking, but its lush fruit is sour. Dread came uninvited as Tom's face contorted into a malice-filled expression. Tom's monster hands clenched into a fist, his hollow eyes glimmering with embers.

"Then, you left. And what did you do when you came back after all these years? What did you do, Tord?" Tom roared at Tord, expecting the wounded man to answer. Tord opened his mouth to reply, but his lips hung heavy on his jaws. Any attempt to answer Tom's questions would send a stabbing feeling into his heart, a pain more unbearable than his mutilated legs.

"You destroyed our house, Tord! Our house!" This time, Tom didn't even bother to wait for an answer. A primal, non-human rage took over him. "Why, Tord? Why do you have to come back and destroy everything?" He grabbed Tord by the throat and raised him up from the snow, legs swaying in mid-air as blood trickled down to the already soaked patch of land below. Almost effortlessly, he threw Tord against a nearby tree.

Tord was still alive and conscious after the throw, but waves of pain swept over his battered form. Pain was all he could feel from his legs to his back to his throbbing head. Merely hours before, he was a military leader in control of an army, seeking total control of the world. Now, the control over his body's movements and internal sensations was slipping from his grasp.

"Why did you do this to us? Where's your heart, Tord?" Tom placed a clawed foot on Tord's heaving chest and stomped down hard. Bones shifted under his skin before snapping from the pressure exerted by Tom's heel. Tord let out a hoarse scream. The blow had broken his ribs and knocked the wind out of him. He lay sprawling, breathing out of rhythm, dry winter air coursing raw into his lungs. A red line trailed lazily from a corner of his lips.

The plum blossoms on the looming trees twinkled against his darkened sight like stars.

When Tom was in Fifth Form, Edd and Tord would take turns driving him to his secondary school. Once Tord's turn arrived, he would drive recklessly out of spite, yet, Tom would tell him that he liked driving with him more than Edd because he was a more fun driver.

Standing over the one who ruined his life, Tom burst into tears. Tord had heard those sobs before when Tom asked "Why did you leave?" through the phone and when Tom aimed his harpoon gun at him.

"WHY?" Tom growled as he swung a fist towards Tord's face. Tord blocked the attack with his arms instinctively. It only intensified Tom's anger, making him wrench Tord's mechanical arm off its socket. As for his biological arm, Tom dragged his claws against its pale flesh and pushed it aside. The arm dropped limp on Tord's side, leaving him vulnerable.

Tom was whipped in a frenzy. He needed to release himself from all the stress wound up inside, and what better way was there to do it other than destroying everything he saw? Tom sank his sharp claws through the thick layer of Tord's blue coat and into his stomach. Tord only whimpered when Tom twisted his wrist with his deadly talons still deep inside. A flame was spreading in his guts but he didn't have enough energy to scream anymore. He was too tired to.

Tom ripped his fingers away and Tord, too, became a plum flower, painting beautiful red blossoms on the white snow with drops of blood and torn pieces of himself. Blooming through suffering.

The last things he heard was the faint song of winter winds and a familiar voice.

"Tom?"

Tom snarled at the intruder, readying himself in a pouncing stance. He was poised to strike down at any minute, but before he could do anything, he froze at the owner of the voice. A man in a green winter attire approached him, clumps of snow and fallen red petals clinging on the ragged fabric. Another man around his height all dressed in purple followed close behind. Edd and Matt. They'd managed to escape from the ruins of the Red Army base.

"What's going on?" Edd asked.

Without sparing a backward glance, Tom disappeared into the woods, blending in with the fellow plum flowers.


End file.
